


the sea (and the sand)

by skatzaa



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Liberal Application of Fishing Boats, Orphaned Fishermen Connollys AU, Water Horses, canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: In a world where Puck’s parents die in a car accident and Sean leaves his jacket at home the day he goes to meet Malvern, everything is different, but still very much the same. Thisby will always favor the brave, though happiness is scarce even in the best of times.
(AKA: The orphaned fishermen Connollys AU that no one but me asked for. Excellent.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even know anymore, friends. I also know nothing about how to work a boat or catch a water horse, so please excuse any and all handwaving. Also, apologies that the timeline of the beginning doesn’t exactly line up, but that’s how it wanted to be written. (Also, I have no idea how this ended up so long.)
> 
> **A warning:** this is one instance of Sean purposefully hurting himself during the process of catching a capall; it’s not exactly self-harm, but I figured it’s better to mention it ahead of time.

PUCK

Mum and Dad die in the first recorded automobile crash of Thisby’s history, and they leave us with only a house in Malvern’s name and a boat in our own. The accident wrecks the car, which is inconvenient at times, but I don’t think any of us would have been able to bear driving the Morris after, so it’s probably for the best. 

It’s an old boat, one of the only wooden ones left on this island, but it will last until long after I’m gone, so long as there’s someone to care for it. If it had a name, it’s been forgotten over the years. Mum just called it the boat. Dad called it Oberon. He was always fond of Shakespeare. 

Even though Dad didn’t hold with the races, he still let Mum decorate the boat with November bells and carved horse heads, like the ones in St. Columba’s, because when you brave the Scorpio sea, you’ll take all the help you can take. It seems like the most important thing in the world, the first time Gabe and I take the boat out on our own. We wouldn’t let Finn come with us, but Gabe couldn’t stop me. 

In the end, it wasn’t the sea or the horses that took them from us. 

SEAN

I’m on a boat, exercising Malvern’s prized colt, Fundamental, when the first _capall_ makes landfall. 

Later, I’ll wonder if the horse that killed Fundamental was also the one that heralded this year’s races, but I have no way of knowing unless I track down the ones that saw it, and I have no reason to talk to the orphaned Connollys. 

When I go for tea with Malvern the next afternoon, a day earlier than each of the past five years, I leave my bloodstained, sea-stiff jacket on the hook behind the door to my little flat. My wrists are already an angry, aching red, and I have an entire yard of horses to look after this evening; I’d rather not aggravate the skin before then. 

For the first time in the nine years that I have worked for him, I see Malvern truly, dangerous angry, another’s voice still ringing in his ear, and it’s over the colt his son sabotaged. But I cannot speak out against him, and there is nothing and no one to defend me. 

Malvern puts Mutt on Corr. 

Two days later, Mutt loses him to the sea. 

*

I am there when it happens, trying to focus on Dr. Halsal’s mare, who still isn’t tracking right, rather than the desperate noises Corr is making. I am most of the way down the beach and I can still hear him, and my heart breaks into a thousand jagged pieces. 

David Prince doesn’t stand a chance, though he has seen enough of the _capaill_ he should have known better in the first place. 

Corr is wild and afraid, Mutt screaming curses from his perch upon Corr’s back. I am too far away to save anyone, let alone my best friend. 

Mutt crashes to the sand and rolls out of the way, still cursing. Corr wheels around on his hind legs, and once again I am ten-years-old, watching the world stop as Thisby steals someone I love. The moment breaks, and Corr lunges for the ocean, though he’s still weighed down with Mutt’s hateful charms. His ears are pinned as he screams. He looks like a vengeful sea spirit, and he disappears into the surf without a backward glance. 

No one on the beach will look at me, though it feels the same as if they were all staring. All I can hear is the water, shushing me. Even the horses are quiet. I finish with Dr. Halsal’s mare and start for the path back to Skarmouth. Not even Mutt gets in my way, which is good for him, because I am adrift, trying not to drown in the storm that rages in my chest. I'm not sure what I would do to him in this moment, but it wouldn't be good for either of us. 

My father’s house on the western cliffs will keep me as dry as the flat about Malvern’s main stable, and now that Corr is gone, there is nothing to tie me there. I do not intend to stay. 

PUCK

The night that Finn and I see the gray _capall_ , Gabe comes back late from a day on the boat alone, but he doesn’t smell of fish or the sea. I busy myself making tea so I don’t start a fight before dinner, but my hands are shaking so badly I spill boiling water everywhere and burn my leg through my pants. 

The boat is our livelihood and the fish we catch are the only reason we’ve stayed in our house for the past year, and Gabe has wasted a clear, calm day on the ocean. If I had known, I would have made him stay home with Finn to make cookies while I took the boat out, but I didn’t know, so now we have no fish and cookies so badly burnt that no one will buy them, because we were too shaken by the sight of the water horse to pay proper attention to the oven. 

I want to scream, but that will only make things worse before they even begin, so I viciously cut the apple cake while Finn washes his hands. 

Gabe slumps at the table. He looks as though he’s about to snap at Finn so I give him my most ferocious glare. We both know Finn’s peculiarities are more pronounced when he’s been unsettled. The first months after our parents’ deaths, we went through more bars of soap than I imagine some people use in a lifetime, and his arms were a mess of bruises, no matter how often I tried to stop him from picking at himself. I’ve been watching my little brother all day; the brush with the _capall_ certainly shook him. 

There’s a reason we’ve never let Finn onto the boat with us. 

Finally, Finn shuts off the tap and sits across from Gabe. There are only three of us in a house meant for five, but old habits die hard, so I sit next to Finn. 

The apple cake is almost cool and the mint tea only mostly warm, but neither of them are beans or fish, and I need to do _something_ to keep myself from berating Gabe, so I begin to eat. Finn follows my lead, but Gabe only clutches his teacup in both of his large, strong hands. It looks tiny and breakable in his grip. 

By the time I’m nearly two-thirds of the way through my apple cake, I think I am calm enough to talk without throwing anything, but I put my fork down anyway as a precaution. 

“You weren’t on the boat today,” I say. It’s not a question, and I’m proud of how steady it comes out. 

Gabe chooses this moment to begin drinking his tea, but at least he has the decency to shake his head in response. 

“Why?” 

The house is so quiet I can hear him swallow, even over the sound of my racing pulse. 

“I was packing the last of my things with Tommy, at his house.” 

It takes me a heartbeat too long to decipher what he means. From the corner of my eye, I see Finn press his fingertips into the tabletop. 

“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question either, but this time my voice trembles. 

“Tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow. Would he have even told us, if I hadn’t noticed, or would Gabe have just slipped off to the mainland without a goodbye, like so many other islanders? How long would it have taken for Finn and me to discover that the sea or the horses hadn’t taken him, that he was instead stolen away by his own desires? 

I am both fiercely glad and terribly frustrated that I am no longer holding a utensil, because if I was, Gabe would likely have one less functioning hand tomorrow when he boarded the ferry. 

With a calm I don’t feel, I reach over and gently pry Finn’s hands from the table. His long fingers are so thin. Dad’s fingers. They aren’t the fingers of a fisherman. 

We’re too young to live without our parents and Gabe, Finn is only barely out of school, but we’re going to have to learn, and suddenly I hate Gabe for putting us in this position. 

“Well,” I say. I press Finn’s hands between my own to keep myself from reaching out and throttling Gabe. “We wouldn’t want you to miss the ferry. Maybe you should stay with Tommy tonight, just in case.” 

Gabe bows his head over his teacup. I try not to notice how horribly pale his face is and how awful that makes me feel, because he deserves it, if he’s going to leave us like this on the anniversary of Mum and Dad’s deaths. 

Finn and I don’t move from the table, now only two where there should be five, until long after Gabe lets himself out. His teacup still sits, less than half empty, before us. 

*

We don’t see Gabe off the next day, partially because I’m still furious with him, and partially because Benjamin Malvern appears on our doorstep just past breakfast. 

I let him in and feel a spiteful sort of pleasure at the way his nose wrinkles. I’m not sure if it’s due to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink or the subtle smell of fish that has settled into the house in the past year, but I don’t care. 

I don’t serve him tea after he sits at our table like he owns it, because I’m cross, and throwing a teacup at the man who owns most of Thisby is a bad idea in any mood. 

“Miss Connolly,” he says, “please sit.” 

I nearly don’t, just to be contrary, but I’d rather he be out of the house as soon as possible, so I fold myself into the chair across from him and fume. 

Malvern continues, as though he can’t feel my glare, “I’ve been informed that your brother is leaving the island today.” His eyes are sharp and unpitying. “I’m sure you understand that this fact doesn’t change your situation.” 

I wonder who on the island has the guts to gossip in front of Benjamin Malvern, and why he decided to come here instead of summoning me to his yard or simply sending a letter. 

We’re already a few months behind on payments for the house, and now that Gabe is gone, it’s only going to get worse. The agreement that Dad had with Malvern, and I’ve read the document myself, is that if we get more than six months behind, Malvern has the right to evict us whenever he chooses. 

“I understand, Mr. Malvern,” is all I say. He meets my eye, then, and I understand why he came here himself, because I see my own malicious pleasure at his discomfort reflected in his gaze. Malvern is Thisby’s cruelest monster, and it makes me sick to think he has such control over our lives. 

When he sees himself out, I don’t stand or acknowledge him in any way. 

It takes me a long few minutes to stop the churning in my stomach, but once I do, I quietly let myself out through the side door. The boat won’t run itself, and there are fish to catch. 

SEAN

Five days after the first _capall_ appears, I am down at the pier trying to talk someone into letting me take their boat out, but no one is biting. 

I have spent the past day and a half cleaning out my father’s house as best I can, and now I’m ready to try to find Corr again. If I can catch him, now that I’m free of Malvern, he’ll be mine to keep. 

But I have to catch him first, and for that, I need a boat. 

Most of the fishermen are just coming in from a long day on the water, so I can’t blame them for not considering my offer, since it’s not much of an offer in the first place. No one wants to add an inexperienced hand in October in return for a night of attempting to catch one of the deadly _capaill_ , especially one that just killed a man. 

I see Brian Carroll’s boat and brother but not the man himself, so I search for his dark hair. He’s more likely the entertain my request than most. 

When I spot him, he has his back to me and the town, speaking to someone hidden by his bulk. There are many people on this island smaller than Brian Carroll, myself included, but I can’t think of a single one that would have reason to be down by the quay at this time of day, unless he’s courting. Each option is as unlikely as the other. It takes a strong hand to survive the Scorpio sea, and I doubt he’s courting, because the entire island would know about it by now if he was. 

I approach him anyway, and I’ve nearly reached him when Brian shifts, revealing a slight girl with freckles and wind-tossed red hair. She’s frowning fiercely at Brian, and though she’s likely my age or younger, her eyes already have the faint squint characteristic of Thisby’s fishermen. That doesn’t hide the fact that the skin under her eyes is dark from a lack of sleep, or the way she’s leaning against the stern of a boat, swaying as it does. 

The boat is more distinctive than the girl, and it’s how I finally recognize her. The Connollys once took my father and I out to hunt for _capaill uisce_ when I was very young, though Robert Connolly disapproved of the races even then. I remember the way Sinéad laughed as a storm tossed us around like a piece of driftwood, and the quiet manner she had as she described to me the meaning behind each carving she’d hidden on the boat. 

This must be one of the Connolly orphans, their story as distinctive as their boat, though I don’t know her name specifically. 

I hear Brian say, “I can help, Kate, until you find someone to hire on more permanently.” 

She shakes her head stubbornly, though even I can see she’s exhausted. A boat that size isn’t meant to be run alone. I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t have one or both of her brothers to help her. “You have your own family—” 

Kate Connolly—the name seems strange, even within my own mind, not that I have a reason to think about her name as anything other than a name—cuts herself off in order to glare at me, whom she has finally seen. 

Brian glances over his shoulder and laughs when he sees me. He turns more fully in my direction. Kate Connolly glowers more. 

“Ah, Sean Kendrick,” Brian says. He is still smiling but his voice is hard and serious. “I know what you’re after and I’ll have none of it. The sea is dangerous enough without purposefully seeking out trouble.” 

I give him half of a nod to show I understand. I do, but it still stings to know that my only option will be waiting on the beaches, and there’s no guarantee Corr will make landfall again in my lifetime. 

Maybe I should just leave him in the ocean, but I’m selfish enough that the thought of someone else catching him is unbearable. 

I glance at Kate Connolly again, only to find her already looking at me with a contemplative tilt to her head. It’s more unsettling than her glare. 

Brian Carroll must see it too, because he shakes his head. “Kate—” 

“What is it you need?” She asks. I look between them, uncertain and wrong-footed for it, and she bristles. “This is my boat, Sean Kendrick, and I will be the one deciding what I do with it.” 

I can tell she means it, so I tell her, “I need to catch a _capall_.” 

Beside her, Brian Carroll sighs, and I can understand why. Kate Connolly is far too young to look like a weathered fisherman, but when she peers at me, that’s exactly what I see. 

“Are you riding in the races this year?” 

This is the question I have avoided for the past day and a half, when I first formulated the barest impression of a plan, but she is looking at me expectantly. If I manage to catch Corr again, I don’t want to risk losing him so soon, and there’s always Mutt Malvern to consider. 

“No.” 

She nods once, like that has decided it for her, though I can’t imagine why. There’s something wild and considering in her expression, when I look closer, and it reminds me of the ocean. I trace a counterclockwise circle on my thigh to steady myself. 

“I’ll help you,” Kate Connolly says. “But if we catch your _capall_ , you’ll let me ride it in the races.” 

PUCK

I leave Sean Kendrick at the quay with a disapproving Brian Carroll and a promise that I’ll be back before sunset. 

I head to Fathom & Sons to hopefully find Finn. My heart is racing in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m in both exhilarated and horrified at the idea of riding a sea fresh _capall _, or if it’s the fact that I even suggested it in the first place, or if I’m simply shocked that Sean Kendrick _agreed_. I don’t want to go back out on the water tonight, but this could be a chance to be free of Malvern, and I’m going to take it. __

The door to the shop is closed, but it’s early in the month yet for tourists to be wandering through, so I go in anyway. 

Dory Maud is bent over some small trinket on one of the tables toward the back, but she’s alone. 

“Is Finn here? I need to speak with him.” Predictably, she frowns at my lack of greeting. I know it’s rude, but I don’t have the time or nerve for small talk. 

“Why the rush?” she asks. Her eyes flick to the corner of the room that is behind and to the right of me, but I pay her no mind. 

“I promised Sean Kendrick I would take him out on the boat, so I need to tell Finn I won’t be home until morning.” 

“Sean Kendrick?” A third voice asks. It doesn’t belong to one of the sisters. I startle and get jabbed by the fertility statue for my troubles. 

Behind and to the right of me, in the corner Dory Maud tried to warn me about, there is a man in a bright red hat, peering at me in the half light of the shop. 

The man goes on, smile wide and friendly like he didn’t just scare half the life from me, “not the Sean Kendrick who worked for Malvern?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” I say shortly, trying to ignore his broad American accent in favor of staring down Dory Maud. It’s the truth, however; though I can’t imagine there’s another Sean Kendrick on Thisby, I’ve spent so much time on the boat these past days that I haven’t heard the latest topics at Palsson’s or the gossip from the fishermen, who are in some ways worse than their wives. 

Dory Maud gives me a hard look that I also ignore and starts to make her way over to me. I just need to know if Finn is here so I can talk to him before I leave again. Dory Maud sinks her nails into my upper arm before I can escape to the backroom and I glower darkly at her. 

“Mr. Holly,” She says, “perhaps Puck could take you to meet Sean before they leave? Puck, I’ll talk to Finn for you.” I nearly object, but she digs her nails in further and hisses in my ear, “that is _George Holly_ and you will be _polite_.” 

Then she smiles her best smile at George Holly, the one that vaguely makes her look like a _capall uisce_ as it contemplates eating you, and shoves me toward the door. I don’t know who he’s supposed to be, but I motion for him to come along. I shouldn’t feel this way, but I’m relieved for the excuse not to talk to Finn about this, because he would fight me tooth and nail. Finn has never liked the sea. 

George Holly follows me out the door and back down to the quay. He’s humming a jaunty mainland tune under his breath, one I only recognize because I listened to it with Gabe just the other day. 

It strikes me, then, in the strange way that grief often does, that Gabe is gone, stolen away by the promises of the mainland. I have to draw in a quick breath to keep from making a sound. 

Beside me, George Holly says nothing, but stops his humming. 

Brian is readying the boat when we reach the pier, though he should be home by now. Sean Kendrick is also on my boat, and as I watch he reaches out and rests his hand on Mum’s favorite carving. She always said it was a faerie, meant to keep mischief off the boat, and then she would give me an impish look. Dad had taken to calling the carving Titania by the time I was knee high, though I didn’t understand the joke until more recently. 

Sean Kendrick smiles at Titania, and it makes him seem softer. I feel unsteady, though I’m not sure why. 

Brian looks up and catches sight of me and my American shadow. He smiles. It is nothing like Sean’s was, a moment ago. 

“Kate,” he calls, “I think she’s ready for you.” 

“Kate? I thought your name was Puck,” Holly says. He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, already turning his curiosity on Brian. “And who is this? A brother? Friend? Fiancé?” 

Brian laughs. I would be offended by the both of them, if Holly’s question wasn’t genuinely harmless or if Brian’s laugh was anything but gentle, which is the way he has always been with me, even after I threatened to spit on his grave. 

“Brian Carroll, and just friend. Kate is too wild to be satisfied with a soul like mine,” Brian says. I feel indignant on principle, but know he is probably right, much to my parents’ heavenly chagrin, I’m sure. Dad always liked Brian. 

“Ah, and this must be the famous Mr. Kendrick!” Holly says. I don’t know whether to thank him or spit at him for so obviously changing the subject. 

“I wouldn’t say famous. Should we call you Kate or Puck?” Sean Kendrick asks. Even now, quiet as he is, his voice is like a knife. Holly doesn’t seem fazed by Sean’s apparent dismissal. 

“Both are my name.” I shrug. “Mr. Holly wanted to meet you, Sean.” 

“I heard you’re the man to see, if one wants to learn about the water horses,” Holly says. He casts a shrewd eye over the boat, and I realize that for all of his jovial smiles and clueless questions and happy songs, George Holly is smart, and not to be underestimated. “I imagine you’re trying to catch one now. Maybe the one you lost on the beach the other day?” 

This is the first I’ve heard of any such thing, and I turn to see if it’s true. Sean’s hands are shoved deep into his pockets, but I see his jaw flex, even from my place on the pier. It feels odd, for him to be on my boat while I’m still on mostly solid ground. 

“Mutt Malvern lost him,” Sean says. “I’m going to get him back.” 

George Holly turns his clever gaze on me. “Kate—Puck. Perhaps I could go with you both? I don’t know when I’ll get another opportunity to see a _capall_ being caught.” 

Brian makes a disbelieving sound, and I know what he's thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing. The last thing I need is an inexperienced tourist on my boat in the middle of an October night, especially now that our task has gotten harder. Hunting _capaill_ is a dangerous pastime, even I know. Trying to find one in particular? That is nearly impossible. If George Holly comes along, I know Brian will insist on helping man the boat, and though I don’t want to keep him from his home, extra hands are always welcome. 

This isn’t only my decision though. I look at Sean Kendrick and he looks back. After an endless moment, he nods. 

“Alright, Mr. Holly,” I say. “You can come. But you must listen to Sean or myself.” Brian makes an expectant face in my direction. “Or Brian.” 

George Holly smiles from beside me, and it is painfully American. I sigh. 

SEAN

While I am stuck explaining my few tools to an enthusiastic Holly, Brian and Puck move around the boat, making the final preparations. Sailing at night is never safe, and even less so during October. 

I hope I am not making a mistake by asking for their help. Mistakes are the deadliest thing on Thisby, even more so than the _capaill_. 

Brian and Puck move around each other easily, like this is a dance and they know all of the steps by heart. Brian’s words about souls are still echoing in my ear, though I try to forget them. Kate Connolly is no one to me that her troubles should be mine, but I’m offended on her behalf at his assessment of her despite myself. 

We’re about to shove off with the last of the evening light, Holly now enthusiastically coiling rope under Brian’s exasperated supervision, when a boy jogs down the pier and yells, “Puck _Connolly_!” 

I see her wince and eye the pier, possibly wondering if we can leave before he gets closer. 

She’s too slow to decide, and the boy plants himself firmly before the boat, grabbing the last of the lines that anchors us. Puck glares at him, though it’s different than the one she gave me. Up close, I realize he must be older than he appears, maybe sixteen or seventeen, but his too-long hair and oversized sweater make him look like a child. 

“Finn,” Puck says, and sighs. Now that I can see them across from each other, it doesn’t surprise me that this is her younger brother. 

“Dory Maud says you’re taking the boat out to look for a _capall_ ,” Finn Connolly says. His face isn’t particularly worried, but his fingers are white around the rope. 

Puck scowls. “Dory Maud needs to mind her own business. Let go of the rope, Finn.” 

He shakes his head. Puck sighs again and easily hops from the boat to the pier. Side-by-side, he’s more than a head taller than her, but she still takes his face between her hands and starts talking in a low, smooth voice, as if he was a startled horse. 

It’s obviously a private moment; I hear her say “Gabe” and then my own name, and I’m not sure if I should turn away or not. George Holly looks on while pretending not to. Brian Carroll faces the sea. 

I focus on ensuring my leather straps aren’t tangled. Once a _capall_ is in a net, there’s no time for knotted lines. 

“No,” I hear Puck say, “absolutely not.” 

I glance up. Puck’s hands are on her hips. She’s tiny next to her brother, but he’s the one who ducks his head. Then he looks back at her. 

“If you’re going, I should go too,” he says. “You’ll need help on the boat and you know it.” 

It’s disconcerting to look at Puck, because she’s not even glaring at him. Her face is blank, as smooth as the sand on the beach right after the tide goes out. I think she might be afraid, in her own way, of her brother joining us. 

“I have Brian and Sean with me,” she says. Finn Connolly glances at me and sees me looking. He narrows his eyes for a moment, but turns his attention back to his sister. 

“And some tourist,” Finn rebuts. “What use will he be?” 

George Holly mysteriously starts coughing. I can’t tell if it’s to hide laughter or indignation. 

I look back out over the sea, past Brian Carroll’s wide frame. The last of the day’s light is winking on the waves, and I’m anxious to get out. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll risk not being set up in a safe spot before the sun sets. I don’t fancy blundering around in the dark more than necessary. Finding Corr won’t be easy, and the task grows harder with each wasted minute. 

“Kate—Puck,” I call. She looks over her shoulder and meets my gaze; her face is still smooth and blank, but then she blinks and emotion returns, though I don’t know her well enough to decipher it. 

She reaches up and hugs her brother. He hides his face behind her ponytail until she lets him go again. Puck says, “It’ll be alright, Finn. I have Brian and Sean, and the sea has given me no reason to fear it more than before.” 

It seems odd, the way she says it, but I also understand what she means. 

Just an hour ago, I was convinced that someone as small as Puck Connolly would never be able to survive Thisby’s ocean, and a part of me still feels that way, but the rest of me sees how she looks at her brother, like she’ll be able to assure him with her confidence alone. Like if she wishes for anything hard enough, it will have to be true. I see the way she has planted her feet on the quay. In this moment, even I believe that nothing would move her without her allowing it first. It makes me wish I had stood up to Malvern, that day in the tea shop; if Puck Connolly is capable of such bravery, why wasn’t I? 

Then Puck hops across the water to the boat, last rope in hand, and doesn’t look back once as we cast off. 

PUCK

It’s fully dark by the time we stop in the spot Sean had decided on. I’m not sure what his criteria is; I would never fish here, because it’s too close to the shore and there are huge boulders dangerously close to the surface, but I have to trust he knows what he’s doing. 

This whole thing relies on trusting a man I only just met, and I’m not sure how I feel about that still, but it is too late to turn back now. 

Brian lights a small lantern at Sean’s request, and I move myself off to one side. My task is done, for the most part, and now it’s mostly important that I don’t get in Sean’s way unless he asks for my help. 

The sea is nearly flat, even this close to the island, and it’s eerie, in a way I can’t quite grasp. I can’t see Skarmouth from here, but one or two lights dot the clifftop, where some houses perch, isolated from the towns. Water taps against the hull of the boat; normally, there is too much going on otherwise for me to hear it, but in the near silence, it seems as loud as a bell. 

I look back in time to see Sean draw a small knife across part of his inner forearm. I wince and he holds his arm over the edge of the boat, allowing the blood to drip down his skin and into the water. He doesn’t flinch, though the cut must hurt. I wonder, for a moment, why he didn’t cut a finger or palm instead. Perhaps so he wouldn’t be twisting his lines against a fresh cut, but even a forearm is bound to hinder him some. 

Sean plants his feet on the deck of the boat, as if he is bracing himself against a stormy, wind-tossed sea, rather than the flat expanse before us. I think I see his mouth moving, but it’s hard to be certain in the dark. 

George Holly shuffles around the edge of the boat until he’s standing beside me. We watch Sean watch the water in silence. Brian is probably still by the helm, out of my line of sight unless I feel like contorting myself. 

I can practically feel the curiosity rolling off of George Holly, so I turn to look at him fully. I quietly ask, so as not to disturb Sean, “What is it you’d like to say, Mr. Holly?” 

He looks startled for a moment, as though he didn’t think I would notice him, but then he grins, not at all put out over being discovered, as it were. I wonder if Americans are terribly oblivious, or if George Holly just likes to be underestimated. 

“Well, Puck,” he tilts his head to one side. “It is alright if I call you that, yes?” 

I nod. 

“Why did you agree to take Mr. Kendrick out on your boat? It doesn’t seem anyone else was willing.” 

I look back to where Sean is standing, still looking at the sea, though I’m sure he can hear us. This feels like a test, somehow, one I have no idea how to pass. I doubt anything but the truth will satisfy someone like George Holly, so I shrug. 

“My brother left for the mainland, and I need a way to pay for my house,” I say. My throat feels tight, both at the mention of Gabe and the idea of spilling my secrets like this, to a complete stranger, with Sean Kendrick and probably Brian Carroll listening as well. “If I race, especially on Sean’s red _capall_ , I might have a chance.” 

It seems incredibly foolish to say such a thing, even more so in Sean’s presence, but George Holly nods as if he understands. Maybe he does. 

Something large knocks against the hull of the boat, jolting me so I hit Holly’s shoulder with my own. 

Quietly, Sean says, “Puck. The nets.” 

I walk to where we store the nets, the ones meant for the very large fish that come in from the deep ocean once or twice a year. Behind me, I can hear Brian Carroll moving too, and then he’s by my side, helping me pull the heavy ropes out. When we turn back, Sean has his red leather straps wrapped around his hands and arms. He spits twice into the sea, then motions us over. 

“When I give the signal, throw the nets in,” he says. “Once you think you have him, _do not let him go_.” 

Beside me, Brian shifts. I know he has helped others catch _capaill_ before, but I think it was always on land. Either way, I’m sure no one does this like Sean Kendrick does, so really, neither of us know what to expect. 

“How do you know it's your _capall_?” I ask, then feel foolish, because Sean Kendrick doesn’t need to explain himself to the likes of me. 

Sean looks at me from the corner of his eye and even from an angle he is more intense than anyone I’ve ever known. He says, “Corr knows my blood. If he’s still here, it’s him.” 

I want to point out that even he isn’t sure if Corr is still here, but he might really glare at me then, so I keep quiet. Beside me, Brian is silent. We’ve done this before, though not with these specific nets, nor this particular catch, so I shouldn’t have anything to worry about, but I still find that my heart is tumbling in my chest. 

Sean leans over the edge of the boat, one hand resting on the hull. He is motionless for nearly a minute, during which the water horse crashing into the boat twice more. I wonder if that’s how they kill fishermen, by capsizing boats and dragging the men and woman aboard down to wherever it is they live. 

“ _Now_ ,” Sean says, and moves quickly to one side. Brian and I step forward as one and throw the net, letting it unravel from between our fingers until all that is left are the ropes for us to hold. We wait—one heartbeat, two—until the ropes tug in our hands. The we step back and _pull_. 

I’m so focused on trying to hold the damn thing that I don’t see Sean step closer to the edge again until he is already levering himself over the side. I almost reach for him, but to do so would mean letting go of the ropes and threatening all of our lives, so I just grit my teeth and snarl and _pull_. Between pulls, Brian manages, “crazy bastard.” 

I’m inclined to agree with him, but I don’t have the breath to respond. Two people against a _capall_ —even in a place like this, where there isn’t much room for them to maneuver around the rocks—are bad odds, and that’s with two grown men. 

I hear George Holly ask, “Puck, how can I help?” but I don’t have the breath to answer him either, so I don’t. 

The sea around us is now a roiling mess. The _capall_ is thrashing in the net, and Sean Kendrick is somewhere down there, with only red leather and whatever other magic he has shoved up his sleeves to protect him. 

The rope in my left hand begins to slip. I risk holding both ropes in my right hand for a moment so I can wrap it around and around my hand. It immediately cuts into my skin, but doesn’t slip. 

It feels like we are stuck there for an eternity, fighting desperately against a force that we can’t see. 

I never should have agreed to this. 

Then, the thrashing stops. Brian and I exchange a glance. We wait, but the horse doesn’t start again, though the net is still heavier than it should be in our hands, so it must still be there. We walk to the starboard side, where the raised wooden hull might protect us from an angry horse, if we’re lucky. We never let the rope go slack, but I know that won’t help us if the _capall_ decides to do something about us. 

We watch the water. There’s nothing but ripples for a long moment. I start to worry for Sean, who’s been down there longer than anyone should be, surely. Then, Sean’s head breaks the surface, hair plastered to his face. The tip of his nose is red. 

“Kate,” he says, “I need to bring him around to the other side. Then you each will take a strap from me and we’ll bring him up.” 

Unlike the side of the boat that Sean jumped off of, where the hull continues up past the deck to about waist height, the port side hull is even with the deck, to better haul full nets in. I don’t know why Sean didn’t start on that side, but perhaps he didn’t want to risk us pulling the _capall_ up before he had worked whatever magic he had on it, or the _capall_ climbing out of the sea to deal with the nuisances holding it. 

Brian and I follow his progress as he swims around the bow to the port side, and then, at his direction, we drop the ropes of the net and take a leather strap each, so Sean is left with two. Sean pulls himself out of the water, and I can’t believe he isn’t shaking himself apart from being in the November Sea for so long, but he is still and sure. 

Then, we draw the horse up from the sea. 

Its head breaks the surface first, and it’s huge and more fish than horse; I can’t imagine Dove looking anything like this and still being able to love her. Its neck and shoulders follow, and it is a long minute before it manages to get both of its front feet up on the deck. I hear its back feet knock against the hull as it heaves itself from the ocean, and then the entire horse is on my little wooden boat. 

The stallion is huge, quite possibly the largest living thing I have ever seen. His sides heave and his nostrils flare, though his body is still long and serpentine and shaking. He smells like dead fish and the sea after a storm. Two of the leathers—the ones Brian and I hold—are around his front legs, and the others are around his neck and great barrel chest. Those are the ones Sean has wrapped around his arms still. 

We need to haul in the nets so I don’t lose them and get back to the quay before dawn and a million other things I don't want to think of, but I cannot stop staring at the deadly predator before me. 

I have never seen something so terrible or awe-inspiring. 

“Kate Connolly, Puck Connolly,” Sean says. “Meet Corr.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll probably end up posting a second chapter of this, with the training and actual races, if I can motivate myself and anyone seems interested (who am I kidding; I will continue writing tsr fics long after this fandom goes dormant).
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are appreciated, but not necessary. Tumblr tags sustain me.
> 
> Read On,  
> Skats


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